


A Funny Thing Happened on Our Walk through the Forest

by mizdiz



Category: The Walking Dead (TV), The X-Files
Genre: Bodyswap, Comedy, Crossover, F/M, Pining, go do something useful with your life, this is incredibly stupid and self-indulgent, why are you even reading it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:48:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27812551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mizdiz/pseuds/mizdiz
Summary: listen. there are so many other things you and i both could be doing with our time, but if you want to stick around and read a caryl/msr crossover bodyswap fic then i can't stop you. what you see is what you get. don't say i didn't warn you.anyway, it all starts with a walk through the forest...
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Carol Peletier, Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 3
Kudos: 22





	A Funny Thing Happened on Our Walk through the Forest

**Author's Note:**

> i know i've posted self-indulgent bullshit before, but boy howdy is this a new one. i was coerced into starting this, this is not my fault. if you read this you have to comment, it's only fair for the tragic bullying i've endured. i don't have a posting schedule. it updates when it updates, mkay? and it'll be stupid. the entire thing is going to be incredibly stupid, and you're going to deal with it. now leave me alone and go read my stupid fic and then validate me, goodbye
> 
> -diz

Daryl heard the clattering of their bent, plastic blinds being pushed aside followed by Merle letting out a low whistle.

“That hot piece of ass of yours just pulled up,” Merle said. Daryl didn’t need to turn around to know that Merle had a shit-eating grin on his face. “Tell me you’re finally hitting that. Please? I got blue balls _for_ you, man, it’s been so long.”

Daryl rolled his eyes as he scrubbed fruitlessly with a discolored sponge at a bowl with scrambled egg all but super glued to the sides. How many times had he told his brother to clean up after himself? The trailer was hardly big enough for the two of them as it was—did he really need to make it worse by leaving shit all over the place? God, Daryl needed to move.

“Ain’t like that. Said so a million times; dunno why you’re so hung up on it.”

“‘Cause somehow, baby brother, you got a gorgeous woman willingly spendin’ her precious time with you, and I’m willin’ to bet you’ve never even tried to cop a feel. It’s a waste is what it is. Are you a queer? You can tell me if you’re a queer. It’s a new world out there. Fairies got all kinds of rights now.”

“Real open minded of you,” Daryl muttered, drying his hands on a dish towel, his attempt at salvaging the bowl abandoned. “I ain’t gay and I ain’t hit that. She’s a friend, and that’s all there is to it.”

“Then can _I_ hit that? Since you’re apparently gonna just let all that A-grade pussy go to waste?”

“There is—and I cannot stress this enough, Merle—no way in hell I’m lettin’ you get within six feet of Carol’s pants. You hear me?”

Right on cue, a knock came at the door. Daryl raised an eyebrow at his brother, not moving to let her in until he had his word.

“Selfish,” Merle muttered, but he shouldered past Daryl to get into his bedroom. That was good enough for now. Daryl went to open the door.

Carol smiled brightly when she saw him and it stopped his heart in its tracks. Only for a second. It wasn’t a new sensation. Her smile always had that effect on him, but he wasn’t about to tell anyone that, least of all her, so he quickly composed himself and smiled back.

Carol was a pretty woman with springy, auburn curls lined with a few premature strands of grey, and bright blue eyes that were easy to get lost in if you were the type to make regular eye contact with other people. Daryl wasn’t, of course, but if he was he’d certainly be susceptible. 

It was possible that he was a little bit totally in love with Carol, but it wasn’t a big deal. He was good at pretending like he wasn’t, and figured he could continue to do that for a long time, like until the day he died. 

Daryl would never entertain the idea of telling her how he felt, because it wasn't worth the risk. He had exactly one true friend in the world, and that was her, and he wasn't about to fuck it up by trying to put his dick in her. 

They met when he was working as a maintenance guy at her apartment complex. He'd come to fix the leaky faucet, and she had been fresh out of the shower in a robe, beads of water dribbling down her collarbone, and he'd felt like he had accidentally walked into the start of a porno, and his awkward ass was about two seconds away from turning right back around, but then she cracked a joke that caught him off guard enough that he laughed. Genuinely laughed. If you asked him what the joke was he wouldn't be able to tell you; that wasn't the important part. The important part was that somehow this woman had made him go from socially anxious to comfortable in the span of one bad joke, and from that moment on he considered her a marvel. They hit it off, and now he had a friend, and he worried every second that she was going to realize she could hang out with way more interesting people, and so he had to do everything in his power to make her stay.

If that meant he had to be in love in silence until he took his last breath? Well, so be it.

“Hey you,” Carol said. Rather than try to come into the trailer she stepped to the side to let Daryl come out. He never let her inside if he could help it. Precious things like her didn’t belong in cheap trailers with rusty showers and horny older brothers. No matter how much she insisted that she didn’t care Daryl couldn’t fight the shame, and because she was a marvel she respected him and knew when not to press his boundaries.

“Hey,” Daryl responded, willing himself not to turn tomato red when she pressed her body against his in a side-hug that he returned with a couple awkward pats to her shoulder. “Work go okay today? That bitch of a head nurse give you any grief?”

Carol was still wearing a pair of light-blue scrubs underneath her windbreaker, meaning she’d come straight to his place from the hospital instead of swinging home to change first. What did that mean? Did it mean anything? Did she want to see Daryl badly enough that she was willing to forgo changing into clothes that didn’t smell like stale antiseptic, or did it mean it was easier to just swing by for a few minutes before escaping him for the safety of her home?

How Daryl managed to ever get a single coherent thought out of his overloaded brain was a mystery.

“Ugh, of course,” Carol said, crossing up her arms and leaning against the trailer. “She hovered over me when I was putting in an IV, as if I haven’t done it a million and one times.” 

“Still think they shoulda promoted you to head nurse instead of her.”

“Yes, you’ve said.” Carol gave an amused smile.

“That's ‘cause it’s true. You got the skill and the seniority. Only reason she got it over you is ‘cause your boss wants to keep bein’ able to get his hands on her tits.”

“Be nice,” Carol said, but her laugh betrayed her. “You don’t even know her. For all you know she’s a perfectly nice girl and I’m just dramatic.”

“Nah,” Daryl said with certainty. “I know that job shoulda been yours.”

Carol didn’t seem to know how to reply to that, so she simply reached out and squeezed Daryl’s forearm briefly, sending him into a one-point-five second panic spiral.

“How was your day off?” she asked. 

“Eh, shitty.”

“How come?”

“‘Cause it was Merle’s day off, too.”

“Ah. Why didn’t you just go hide in the woods?”

“Dunno. Place needed cleanin’ and God knows he’s not gonna do it, and ‘sides I was waitin’ to see if you wanted to go wander. It’s fine if you’re too tired, of course, I just know you sometimes wanna go for a walk and get disappointed if I go without you, which I still don’t get, by the way. Not like I’m suddenly gonna hate the forest just ‘cause I visited it twice in one day.” 

“I just don’t like feeling like I’m forcing you to do something, but that doesn’t mean you had to have a shitty day on my account. We could have gone for burgers, or we can do whatever you want. I don’t always have to get my way.”

“I don’t know much about women, but I know enough to say that that ain’t true.” Daryl nudged her in the side to make sure she knew he was joking, and added, “‘Sides, I like doin’ what you wanna do. If you’re happy, I’m happy.”

“You’re sweet,” Carol said. “Then in that case does that mean you’re up for a walk through the forest? My feet are still killing me from work, but the fresh air is worth it.

“Hell yeah,” Daryl said. “Lemme grab my vest.”

The only thing Daryl loved about as much as Carol was the forest. He might have lived in a trailer, but he was at home in the woods. The sounds of animals skittering around and calling out to one another; the smells of soil and foliage—it was a source of comfort like no other.

What made it even better were the days when Carol was at his side.

“It’s such a beautiful day,” Carol said wistfully as they made it past the treeline. She tilted her head back and took in a deep breath, and the curve of her jaw leading into the length of her neck was frankly obscene.

It was uncharacteristically cool for the time of year, which made Daryl’s sweaty palms hard to explain away as the heat, but Carol didn’t seem to notice him periodically wiping his hands on his jeans. How was it possible that the person he was most comfortable with was also the one who made him the most nervous? Carol turned her gaze from the sky and focused it on him, casting him a brilliant smile and his mouth went instantly dry. His tongue sticking to the top of his mouth, he wished he’d had the foresight to bring a water bottle.

Up ahead there was the shallow creek that flowed through the entire forest, emptying out into the mouth of a river miles away. He mumbled a quick “hold on a minute,” and maneuvered himself over the damp rocks and squatted down beside the stream. He cupped his hands and lowered them into the water. He lifted them to his lips and slurped the water into his mouth, the liquid surprisingly cold as it ran down his throat, and he felt better at once, the single sip quenching his thirst. 

“I don’t know how you can drink from the creek like that,” Carol said, scrunching her nose. “Who knows how many animals have pissed in there?”

“Gives it flavor.” He straightened up and bumped her shoulder with his own, feeling accomplished when she laughed. “C’mon,” he said, nodding up the trail. He started walking and she fell in step beside him.

They walked for a good half-mile in companionable silence, letting the forest do all the talking. Daryl loved that about Carol—how he could spend time with her without the pressure of constant conversation. Unil her he didn’t know you could enjoy the company of someone and be quiet at the same time.

But Daryl had never been a lucky man, and all too soon the spell of their peaceful evening was broken in the most peculiar way.

For the first time in his memory, their walk was interrupted when they ran into other people. There were _never_ other people on the trail, and yet here he suddenly was, face-to-face with two strangers who didn’t look properly dressed for a trip through the forest. They seemed better suited for a stuffy office somewhere. Daryl exchanged a glance with Carol and found her just as confused. 

“Excuse me,” said one of the strangers—a man—as he reached into the inside pocket of his long jacket. He pulled out a badge and held it out for Daryl and Carol to see. “My name is Agent Fox Mulder, and this is my partner Dana Scully. We’re with the FBI. Do you mind if we ask the two of you a couple questions?”

Well, Daryl thought to himself, this day had certainly taken a turn.

*

“Remind me again what we’re doing out here?” Scully said. A large twig snapped underneath her boot and she swore under her breath at the unexpected sound. Mulder hid a smile, knowing that she wouldn’t appreciate how endearing he found it when she was bitter and annoyed. He’d feel bad about it, except she wouldn’t be out in the forest with him unless some part of her wanted to be. When he’d brandished two plane tickets to Georgia at her that morning she could have easily told him to fuck off, but instead she’d sighed and asked if she at least had time to finish her bagel first. 

“We’re looking for evidence,” Mulder replied.

“Evidence of _what_?” 

“Did you know that some of the trees in this forest are over four hundred years old? There are numerous accounts dating all the way back to colonial times documenting mysterious happenstances occurring within these woods. People have reported no longer feeling like themselves after leaving the forest, or that loved ones began acting strangely after a leisurely walk along the trails. Although some medical professionals have suggested these people were overcome with a strange amnesia, no official diagnosis has ever been made. Not only that. If you talk to the locals you’ll find that despite no laws to the contrary, there seems to be an unspoken agreement that no hunting is permitted in this particular forest. Bad luck, they’ll say, even though these woods are teeming with game. For centuries this forest has been a hub for unexplained phenomena.” 

“Okay,” Scully said, elongating the word in that way she did when she was gearing up to tear his argument to shreds. “So what about any of that warrants an FBI investigation? In DC you said this was a missing person’s case, so why am I currently doing a nature hike in three-inch heels?”

“Nobody told you to wear those shoes, Scully.”

“Yeah, well you didn’t bother to mention that I should bring my backpacking gear. Seriously, Mulder, what are we doing out here?” She stopped in her tracks and Mulder, a few steps ahead of her, looked at her over his shoulder. She had her hands on her hips and the tip of her tongue resting precariously on her front tooth, her lips parted and one eyebrow elegantly lifted as she stared him down. Coming to a stop of his own he faced her fully.

“Abigail Rogers reported her husband, Kenneth Rogers, as kidnapped nearly a month ago but the case was dismissed by the local PD. After trying for weeks to get the state police involved, and even reaching out to the FBI herself and getting nothing but bureaucratic runaround, she was eventually referred to me by someone at the Atlanta field office who was familiar with my work on the X-Files. We’re meeting with her first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Why was the case dropped by the local PD?” 

Mulder grinned.

“Because a cursory investigation showed no evidence of kidnapping.”

“Didn’t they at least file a missing person’s report?”

“Nope.”

“Well why not?”

“Because for all intents and purposes, Kenneth Rogers wasn’t missing. The police saw him in the flesh at the Rogers’ bungalow just outside city limits.”

Scully shook her head slowly and said, “I’m not following.”

“See, Mrs. Rogers is claiming that it wasn’t her husband’s _body_ that was kidnapped, but that his mind was.” 

Scully stared at Mulder in silence for ten full seconds. 

“What exactly do you expect me to say to that?” she asked finally. 

“I know how it sounds, Scully, but like I said, it’s not without precedence. Similar claims have been made in relation to this forest, all of them having been dismissed by local or county law enforcement without ever being fully investigated. Before his alleged disappearance, Kenneth Rogers took a trip through these very woods with a long-time friend of his, Damien Brooks, who is the man Mrs. Rogers is claiming kidnapped her husband.” 

“Putting aside every argument as to why what you’re saying is absurd and scientifically impossible, that still begs the question why we’re out here in the first place. I have a report I’m behind on that I could be working on, I haven’t eaten since this morning, and frankly, Mulder, watching the new episode of _West Wing_ on a crappy motel TV seems about as useful to this case as aimlessly wandering the forest would be. Until we’ve spoken to Mrs. Rogers and have gotten something to go on— _if_ we get something to go on—I don’t know what you expect to find out here.”

“I don’t necessarily know either,” Mulder said with a shrug. “But if this is where the kidnapping happened then wouldn’t it make sense to scope out the place?”

“Yes, if we had any idea what we were even looking for.” 

“Anything out of the ordinary.” 

Scully’s eye roll was tremendous, her sigh more so, but Mulder wasn’t deterred. He bent down and began inspecting the ground, hoping for something peculiar to jump out at him. Nothing did. The dirt was just dirt, and the green plants growing from the ground were all ones he could recognize from his time as an Indian guide. He stepped over some fallen branches and slick rocks and approached the edge of a creek. Watching the water flow by, he wondered where it emptied out. He dipped his hand into it and was surprised by how cold it was. He scooped up a palmful and sipped it through his pursed lips like a straw. He liked to use all five senses when investigating, and that meant taste too, much to his partner’s chagrin.

“Mulder,” Scully said from behind him. He looked at her and she pointed up ahead where through the trees he could make out two people coming towards them down the trail. 

“Excuse me,” he called out as the two people came into view. He straightened up and reached into his inside coat pocket in a practiced motion, pulling out his badge. “My name is Agent Fox Mulder, and this is my partner Dana Scully. We’re with the FBI. Do you mind if we ask the two of you a couple questions?”

The two people, a man and a woman, stopped abruptly and looked at Mulder and Scully in surprise. Well, the woman looked surprised. The man was more of a mixture of surprised, annoyed, and vaguely terrified. 

“We in trouble or somethin’?” the man asked, eyes darting from Mulder to Scully and back again.

“Not at all, sir, we’re just conducting an investigation and we were wondering if maybe the two of you would be able to provide some insight,” Scully said, walking with surprising grace in her three-inch heeled boots and coming up beside Mulder. “Are the two of you from around here?” 

When the man said nothing the woman spoke up, saying, “I live in town, but Daryl lives only a half mile or so from here.” The man—Daryl—casted the woman a glare, and she shrugged helplessly at him. 

“Have you lived by these woods for a long time?” Mulder asked Daryl, whose entire body stiffened when he realized he was being addressed directly. 

“Few years,” he muttered. He averted his gaze and started picking at a scab on his elbow.

“You ever notice anything suspicious?” 

“Uh, like what?” Daryl peeked up through his shaggy bangs just long enough to furrow his brow at Mulder.

“Anything that comes to mind.” Mulder looked Daryl up and down. He was a rugged man, strongly built, and although he could use a shower he wasn’t dirty in a way that was unkempt, so much as dirty like a man who did manual labor and spent most of his time outdoors. On a hunch, Mulder asked, “Do you hunt?” 

“Now and then. What’s it to you?” Daryl asked gruffly. The woman elbowed him in the side and he amended his rudeness quite poorly by adding, “ _Sir._ ” 

“What kind of game do you catch around here?”

“Oh, I don’t hunt in these woods,” Daryl said quickly, shaking his head.

“Why not?”

“‘Cause nobody does. You don’t take shit from this forest. Don’t even pluck a flower, you leave it be.” 

“Why’s that?” 

“Dunno, it’s just how it is,” Daryl said with a shrug. “People tell stories, you know, ‘bout how these woods are alive, and how if you fuck with ‘em they’ll fuck you right back. There’s a different forest not far from where I live. That’s where the locals get their game.”

“Have you ever seen any evidence that these woods truly are alive?” Mulder asked, and Daryl scoffed.

“What, is the FBI investigatin’ urban legends now? Ran outta serial killers to hunt? Tell you what, I got a good chupacabra story that’ll really get you goin’ if that’s how you wanna spend my tax dollars.”

“Daryl,” the woman warned in an undertone. Daryl huffed but stopped his taunting. 

He said, “Dunno what you want me to tell you. Shit’s just gossip. Stuff that gets tossed around when people get drunk, tryna scare the piss outta each other.”

“Do you believe it? That gossip?”

“No not really,” Daryl said, and then smirked, just a little, and added, “But I don’t take any chances neither.”

“Does the name Kenneth Rogers mean anything to either of you?” Scully asked. Daryl shook his head, but the woman looked thoughtful.

“Maybe?” she said. “I think his wife might have brought him into the hospital a couple weeks back. To the emergency room.”

“Are you a doctor?” 

“No, ma’am, a nurse.”

“What was he being seen for?” Mulder asked. The woman looked at him apologetically.

“I’m not really at liberty to discuss my patients. I could lose my job.”

“I have a background in medicine, ma’am, I understand,” Scully said. She pulled out a small notebook from her breast pocket with a pen clipped to the spiral and opened it to a blank page. “Could I get the name of the hospital you work at?”

“Saint Elizabeth’s. It’s about a twenty minute drive from here.”

“Do you know who the attending doctor might have been when Mr. Rogers was seen?”

“Not really, no. We’ve had a lot of employee changes, and it’s a teaching hospital and a lot of students just finished up their residencies.” 

“That’s fine. Can I get your name?”

“Carol Miller.”

“And yours, sir?” 

Daryl hesitated. He exchanged a glance with Carol, who nodded at him. 

“Daryl Dixon,” he said reluctantly.

“Is that Daryl with a Y or two R’s?” 

“With a Y.” 

“All right, well I think that’s all we’ll be needing from the two of you, unless my partner has anything else?” Scully flipped her notebook shut and looked at Mulder expectantly. 

“Can I ask what exactly it is you’re investigating?” Carol asked. 

“A potential kidnapping,” Scully said. “I’m afraid we can’t say more than that.”

“What’s the forest got to do with a kidnapping?” Daryl asked. Scully gave a tight-lipped smile.

“That’s a very good question.” Her expectant look at Mulder became more insistent. He merely grinned.

“Here,” he said, reaching into his coat pocket once more and pulling out a business card. He held it out to Daryl. “This has my cell number on it. If you think of anything that might be relevant you give me a call.” 

Daryl reached up to take it but paused with his hand in mid-air. 

“Relevant to _what_?” he asked.

“Just if you hear any more stories around the campfire that seem stranger than usual.” 

Daryl continued to stare at him stock-still, so Mulder took a gentle hold of his wrist and slid the card in between his curled fingers. Daryl yanked his arm back and glowered. He looked like he was about to say something colorful, but Carol put a hand on his back and he instantly simmered down. 

“Can we go now?” he asked, shoving the card into his pocket and surely bending the corners.

“Of course,” Mulder said. The words were barely out of his mouth before Daryl gestured for Carol to follow him and two started back up the trail the way they came. When they were out of ear shot, Scully nudged him. 

“I doubt any campfire stories are going to hold up in court, Mulder,” she said, a smile playing at the corner of her lips. Mulder looked down at her and tilted his head, pouting his lips.

“You never know,” he said, touching her shoulder with the tips of his fingers to lightly guide her back up the trail. “You know I’d never be one to knock anything right out of hand.”

*

Daryl was crammed in the dining area that converted into a cramped pull-out bed, his spine asking him once again why Merle got the room with the real mattress when he skimped out on rent half the time, when the landline rang. Daryl muted the staticky TV that was playing a rerun of _Who Wants to be a Millionaire_ and reached behind him to snatch the phone off of the receiver.

“Hello?” he said, hoping it was too late in the day to be a debt collector looking for Merle. He wasn’t sure how many more times he could sell the “he died” line before he had to just start unplugging the phone. 

“Daryl?” came Carol’s voice on the other end. Immediately he perked up.

“Hey. What’s up? Everythin’ okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I was just sitting here watching TV and thinking about those FBI agents we ran into earlier. That was weird, right?”

“Real weird,” Daryl agreed. “I ain’t even convinced they was real agents with the questions they was askin’. It was like they wanted me to tell ‘em ghost stories or some shit. The guy, anyway. Shoulda asked to see his badge up close.”

“I thought that was strange, too. But I was trying to remember, and I do think that Kenneth Rogers guy came into the hospital.”

“Not a super uncommon name.”

“No, but I remember it was weird. He wasn’t my patient so I couldn’t tell you much even if I wanted to, but his wife made a scene in the waiting room that night, demanding someone give him a psych exam.”

“A psych exam in the ER?”

“Yeah, the receptionist had to threaten to call security to get her to calm down.”

“Sounds like she’s the one who needed the psych exam.”

“Seriously. I wonder what he has to do with the FBI being out in the forest, though.”

“Who knows? I don’t trust the feds. Last thing I need is for them to go sniffin’ in my business. Who knows what the fuck Merle’s up to in his free time, and I don’t really want my place torn apart in a drug bust or somethin’. Get hauled away as an accessory.” 

“Why won’t you just move out of there, Daryl? I keep telling you you’re more than welcome to have my guest room.”

“Nah, you know I can’t just up and leave him. He’d be back behind bars in less than a week. ‘Sides, you don’t need me all up in your space drivin’ you crazy.”

“On the contrary, I think it’d be very nice to be able to see you more often,” Carol said sweetly. “But even if I don’t approve, I at least understand your loyalty to your brother. Just know the offer stands.” 

“Yeah.” Daryl swallowed thickly, trying to ignore the fluttering in his stomach. “You get some sleep now, alright?”

“You too. And remember, the feds can’t come inside without a warrant.” 

“Ha ha, you’re hilarious.”

“Goodnight, Daryl.”

“Night, Carol.” 

He put the phone back on the hook and curled up like a cat, trying to maximize the limited space he had, but he wasn’t even thinking about his discomfort anymore. He drifted off to sleep with the sound of Carol’s voice replaying in his head.

*

It was not the sound of Carol’s voice that woke him up the next morning, but rather the piercing sound of a digital alarm clock. His eyes snapped open and he started hitting everything he could find until his palm hit a snooze button. Groaning, he buried his face back into his pillow and tried to recapture his dream. It had been a nice one. The forest had been in it, and Carol too, he was sure, but the details were already slipping away. Damn alarm.

He froze. 

He didn’t have a digital alarm clock. 

He also didn’t have a pillow as soft as the one his head was resting on; fluffy, and smelling like fresh linen. Tentatively, he raised himself up into a sitting position and surveyed his trailer. 

Except it wasn’t his trailer at all. 

Instead of the crammed pull-out bed he fell asleep on he was tangled in a mess of sheets on a giant king-sized mattress. The carpet was a hideous green and yellow patterned atrocity, and hanging on the walls were bland paintings of flowers. There was a dresser with a stained coffee pot and an old microwave sitting atop it, and a television with antennae and a little, folded, cardboard sign beside it that read, “FREE HBO.” 

He was in a motel room. That much was clear. _Why_ he was in a motel room, however, was a complete mystery. 

Did he drink last night? He didn’t remember having anything more than a beer that he only drank half of before falling asleep. Had he been drugged? It was possible, but honestly who would go to the trouble? He wasn’t exactly the most valuable person to hold for ransom. Unless he was being held hostage because Merle got himself into some dumb shit again. That would be just his luck. A couple drug dealers were probably going to shoot him dead because Merle didn’t pay for his dope. Fantastic.

Well, first things first, he thought to himself—he was in a motel, but where? If he could figure that out then maybe he could call Carol and she could help.

He untangled himself from the sheets and got out of bed. Instantly he felt disjointed, his body off-kilter, like he couldn’t remember his own legs. He also felt taller. Leaner, too. The fuck kind of drugs was he given?

Feeling like a toddler who only recently got the whole walking thing down, Daryl stumbled over to the dresser and found a laminated piece of paper that had a bullet-point list of rules on it. 

  * _NO smoking_


  * _NO pets_


  * _NO grills or hot plates_



It went on, but he didn’t care about that. What he cared about was the name listed at the very top. _The Stanley Motel_. The word motel was underlined three times. Whatever, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that it had an address listed just below it. He was in Atlanta. How the fuck did he get all the way to Atlanta without waking up? He clutched the flier in his hand and started towards the telephone, but something stopped him in his tracks.

Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight himself in the mirror hanging above the sink a few feet away. He slowly turned to face it fully and frowned. He then scrubbed at his eyes, blinked several times, and looked again, but his reflection remained the same. Only it wasn’t his reflection at all.

Staring back at him, with the same dumbfounded expression Daryl knew he was making, was the face of Agent Fox Mulder with the FBI.

**Author's Note:**

> (((this is secretly very entertaining to write)))


End file.
